Perhaps his tiny foundling had wandered away by himself, he thought.
Searching and searching, up hill and down, lighting his way through the
brush, the miner went on and on, to leave no spot unvisited. He was
out all night, wandering here and climbing there on the hillside,
pausing now and again to listen and to look about, almost expectantly,
where naught could be seen save the mighty procession of the stars, and
naught could be heard save the ringing of the inter-stellar silence as
the earth swung steadily onward in her course.
Hour after hour of the darkness went by and found him searching still.
With the coming of the morning he suddenly grasped at a startling
thought.
Miss Doc!--Miss Dennihan! She must have stolen his foundling!
Her recent climb to his cabin, her protracted stay, her baffled
curiosity--these were ample explanation for the trick she must have
played! How easily she might have watched the place, slipped in the
moment the cabin was left unguarded, and carried off the little pilgrim!
Jim knew she would glory in such a revenge. She probably cared not a
whit for the child, but to score against himself, for defeating her
purpose when she called, she would doubtless have gone to any possible
length.
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